


With You Still

by theherocomplex



Series: Distant Shores and Voices [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Pining, Romance, Time heals all wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The slow road back to Fenris isn't one that Hawke has to travel alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You Still

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt from the lovely kindervenom (which ran spectacularly away with me): Yarrow - cure for a broken heart .

In time-honored tradition, Hawke spends the first few hours after Fenris leaves her sobbing in a bathtub. Never before has she been so grateful for her magic; it lets her heat the water without having to wake Orana, and keep it hot until her tears have run dry. 

After that, she rises, dresses, and sits at her desk until the dawn comes, conjuring tiny thunderstorms in the palm of her hand. 

What did she think would happen, really? This careful dance they have shared for the past three years could only have ended one way: broken, like everything else she touches. 

 _Fine,_  Hawke thinks, not wincing as miniature lightning stabs her palm.  _Then I will touch no more._

_***_

Easier said than done. 

*** 

They don’t talk about it, they don’t acknowledge anything passed between them, but sometimes Hawke sees Fenris watching her, his expression impossible to parse. She’s tempted to smile, to brush her fingers across his, anything to tell him he’s forgiven for whatever injury he thinks he’s caused, but she never does. 

It is over. This is where all her wanting brought her, and she will not hurt Fenris again. 

*** 

Isabela offers to take her drinking, and offers herself once they’re both four ales deep. 

“Really,” she says, squeezing Hawke’s knee under the table. “It’d be a shame for you to  _both_  brood your lives away. Give it time to work itself out, but don’t forget to enjoy yourself along the way.” 

It’s good advice, excellent advice, and Hawke isn’t at all surprised when, six months after she turns Isabela down (buying her another round to make up for it, obviously), she finds out that Fenris has taken it. 

And yet, it still stings, to watch them together, to watch how Fenris smiles and laughs at Isabela’s stories, and that petty ember flares to flame when Hawke catches them kissing in a corner. 

That night, she returns to her practicing. This time, she breaks a glass, over and over, and rebuilds it from the shards. 

A metaphor, and a clumsy one, but by dawn, she can barely see the cracks in the glass’s surface. 

*** 

“You don’t have to run all the way back to Ferelden, you know,” says Varric, one year later. “Broody’ll figure himself out. You just have to give him time.” 

By now, Hawke is far too tired to explain that she is not waiting, ticking off days and weeks until some far-off day when she will open her door and there will be Fenris, warm and happy and ready. There will be no such day; whatever chance she had to make Fenris happy passed long ago. She loves him, she loves him, she would do anything to go back and stop that night before she ruined it all, and none of that changes a damn thing. 

How can she explain that to Varric? He would understand the most, she thinks, except for Aveline or Sebastian, but she can’t even try. This is the last thing she can do for Fenris: she will not speak of it, to anyone, and leave that night quietly buried between them. 

“It’s not running away,” she says, forcing herself to smile. “It’s just a little break from Kirkwall, that’s all. Would you like me to bring you anything from Lothering?” 

Varric snorts into his ale, and then Hawke is subjected to a long lecture on the relative values of Fereldan tourism. By the time Varric is finished, he’s forgotten to ask about Fenris – just as Hawke wanted. 

*** 

The blond man sits down at her table without asking, and flips two fingers at the barman. 

“ _So_ ,” he says, leaning in close enough so Hawke can smell the sweat on his skin. “You must be the loveliest woman in this tavern.” 

Hawke sighs. “My friend,” she says, without looking up. “If you look closely, you will see that I am the _only_  woman in this tavern.” 

The man squints, then chuckles. “By the Maker, you’re right. Doesn’t change the fact that I am, too.” The barman drops two ales on the table, and the man shoves one at her. “Here you are, drink up.” 

She sighs again, and finally lifts her eyes from her letter to Aveline. “I’m going to start out by disappointing you right now,” she says. “No matter how drunk you try to get me, I am  _not_  going to sleep with you. If you’d like to fuss about that, please get it out of the way now.” 

“Who said anything about  _sleeping_  together?” says the man, looking wounded. He takes a long pull of his ale. “You’re beautiful, yes, but I bought you that because you’re the one person in this room who looks more miserable than I feel. Figured I should try to help with that.” 

Hawke hesitates, then bursts out laughing. “Am I that obvious?” she says, already knowing the answer. She can never hide her feelings; it’s all there, written on her face. 

“Oh, you are,” he says, shoving her ale closer. “But don’t worry, I won’t make you talk about it. We’ll share a pint, and go our separate ways. Or, you’re welcome to join me in seeing what adventures Ferelden holds.” 

“Adventures? I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but this  _is_  Ferelden _,”_ she says, blowing off the foam. 

“Now now, then,” he says, laughing himself. “I’ll have you know there’s  _plenty_  to do here.” 

“Oh? And how would you know that?” 

The man shifts, and the firelight falls on his armor. Hawke sucks in a breath, pieces clicking into place, and the man holds out a hand. 

“Let’s just say, I spent a long time wandering over these lands,” he says. “Alistair.” 

*** 

Five months in Ferelden go quickly, more so after Hawke makes Alistair’s acquaintance, and they spent weeks together, happily killing darkspawn and not talking about their miseries. On their last night in Jader, Alistair knocks on her door and slips inside without waiting for her answer. 

“Please tell me you’re not here to seduce me,” Hawke says sleepily. She shoves her hair out of her face and finds Alistair staring at her, his face serious. “Oh, Maker, what’s happened? Are you all right?” 

“Of course,” he says, leaning against the door. “I’m sorry to have worried you, but I wanted to tell you – it’ll be all right. Whatever happened back home? It’ll be fine. You’re a good friend, Hawke, and I – oh, this sounded much better in my head.” He laughs and scrubs his face with his hand. “Never was very good at this whole rousing-speech thing. Good thing I never ended up…” He trails off, then offers her a sad smile. “All I mean to say is, whatever happens, I’ll always consider you a friend, and whatever’s hurt you – well, you’ll see yourself through to the other side.” 

Hawke raises her eyebrows, tempted to tell Alistair of how everything she touches turns to glass and shatters, how she loves and wants but not like everyone else – in her hands, those things are poison, and she leaves nothing but burned fields behind her. 

But that would be unfair, and she hasn’t known so much kindness that she should turn any of it away when it comes to her. She pushes out of bed, and comes to take Alistair’s hands in her own. 

“Thank you,” says, and stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good friend, too, Alistair. We’ll  _both_  be all right. And if you need me – I’ll come.” 

He smiles at her again, still sad, but says nothing, just squeezes her hands. 

*** 

Everyone is waiting for her at the docks, calling her name even though she could see Aveline’s hair as soon as the ship entered the harbor. Isabela has brought her a bag of lemon sweets, Varric tries to update her on all of Kirkwall’s doings at once, and Sebastian merely smiles. 

At last, Hawke detaches herself from Merrill and finds herself face-to-face with Fenris. 

They say nothing for a long time, long enough for everyone to fade into whispers around them. Then Fenris smiles, warmer than she’s even seen, and links her fingers with his, oh so very briefly. 

“Welcome home, Hawke,” he says, his eyes not leaving her face. 

*** 

That night, safe in her bedroom once more, Hawke turns to the brown, dry plants in her window boxes, and coaxes them to bloom with nothing but her breath and the tips of her fingers. In the morning, the walls of her house are covered in fresh ivy, with the graceful heads of rose blossoms nodding sleepily in shadowed corners. 

*** 

If only Hawke had known what to look for, she would have seen this for the rebuilding that it was. But she did not, and so when the day came that Fenris stood at her door, gilded by the morning sun and bearing nothing but himself and his smile, she was delighted to find that her touch, for once, would keep something alive. 


End file.
